Submitted By: Anne Farrell, Bright Hope Team Member
This man’s name is Odeya John. He lives with his wife, sister and grandchildren in a rural village in southern Uganda, where Bright Hope serves. I met him this past summer and I still find myself thinking about him and his family quite often.
He may look a bit “scary” or ominous, but that’s probably due to the fact that he’s losing his sight, and his eyes don’t focus very well as a result.
The truth is, Odeya is one of the kindest, most thoughtful men I met during my time in Africa. He was my “tour guide” when we made some home visits to people in his village. We were sent out in twos with a local man to ask the people of this village one question: “How has receiving a micro loan changed your life?”
Odeya walked along the dirt paths with me and my friend and introduced us to three families. Ducking under thatched roofs to enter mud huts, or sitting on the ground, we talked with three of the families (mostly the mothers) through our interpreters. We soon learned that a very small loan (even $40) can help a family begin their own little business and start their upward climb out of poverty.
Our last stop was Odeya’s home. It was a bit roomier than the first three — instead of mud hut with a thatched roof, his home was a rectangular room made of bricks. Odeya invited us to sit down, and proudly explained that the crude, rough edged wooden furniture we sat on came from the profits of their new business of selling fish in the local market. We complimented him on his home and his furniture, and then sat down to talk.
As we talked, my friend and I learned that Odeya was having cataract problems and his sight was failing. We learned that he and his wife and sister were caring for eight grandchildren, because all of their adult children had died of AIDS.
Because the village school had just closed for lunch, the kids began spilling into the home, shyly checking out these strange white people sitting with their grandma and grandpa! The kids’ clothing included something in bright pink —the boys had pink shirts and the girls had pink jumpers. Odeya told us that this was their school uniform. He also humbly remarked that the reason their clothes were so raggedy was because they were basically the only clothes they had… “These are their uniforms, their night clothes, their everyday clothes,” he explained.
I asked Odeya if the kids had eaten today. (It was about 1 p.m.) Odeya looked slightly embarrassed and said that “they will eat something today.” Translation: They hadn’t eaten yet. I reached into my purse and pulled out a Nature Valley granola bar packet with two bars in it. I asked him if I could give a piece to the kids. He said yes, and told the kids in their language that they would be getting a “bisquette.” So I broke the bards into little pieces, quickly calculating how far I had to stretch it. As I walked up to each child, they cupped their hands and lifted them to receive the piece. They never said a word, but their gentle spirits and eager eyes told me the story.
I had enough left over to give the adults a piece, and everyone ate it together. It was now time to go, and Odeya walked us out of his home and onto the dirt road again. As we walked along, he confided to me that he was afraid of losing his sight completely, because then, how would he possibly be able to care for his family? He said he knows that the Lord will look out for them, but still, he’s scared. I didn’t’ have any money on me, and I don’t know if he would have even taken it from me. But I did tell him I would pray for him and his family.
As we were getting ready to leave, he turned to me and said, in English, in his gentle voice, “I knew that when I met you today, I would be blessed.” I was floored, and deeply touched. told him that I, in fact, was the one blessed, more than he could ever imagine. I asked him if I could take his picture, and he gladly agreed. I wont’ forget you, Odeya John.
